A / n : Sorry the updates aren't coming as fast as before, guys. I'm working two jobs and it doesn't leave me much time to write.
Thanks Lady Bender, cartoonlover27 and Elphaba818 for the reviews. Your support is why I'm still making time for this. (40 chapters, whoo!)
Fic thoughts : Yeah, right now the Brainspawn are Fry's main plot, Leela's mutant heritage is hers, and Lars's plot is him trying to figure out who he really is and working through the ramifications of being a time-paradox duplicate. Basically each of them has something in their history that made them who they are and now has the potential to shape who they become.
Mars Vegas was waking up as the ship flew overhead. Leela had previously been under the impression the place never slept, but apparently it did. It just did so in the gray hours before dawn, before the garbage trucks came round.
She watched orange streaks suffuse the sky and tried to tamp down the terror rising in her stomach. She'd spent weeks trying to track Fry down, and as much as Leela might hate admitting it – as empty as she'd felt without him – part of her had been glad of his absence, because it meant she didn't have to have this conversation with him. What was she supposed to say, anyway? How did you tell someone they were going to be a father?
Funny story, Fry . . . remember that time we had angry sex in Amy's closet? Well, you'll never guess what made a baby!
She winced. It was horrible even before she found a way to factor in the Russian Roulette of mutant genetics, and the awkward fact of her feelings for him.
The cyclops swallowed past the lump in her throat.
I can't do this.
It didn't help that things were getting more and more confusing. Last night she'd almost kissed Lars. She wasn't even sure why. He'd been talking about her and Bender and how he first came to the future, and she'd simply lost control again.
It was probably Fry. The longer he stayed away the more Leela missed him, and the more she missed him, the more she found herself grasping at anything that might dull the feeling. And then Lars would say something that resonated so strongly it made her dizzy, or do something so familiar it prompted an unexpected rush of affection for him, and Leela would find herself confused, the line between him and Fry blurring before her eye. Looking at him was like looking at two overlapping images – the man she'd loved as Lars and the one she knew as Fry, layered over each other in a state of constant flux. They were fused in such a way she couldn't pick them apart.
Thinking about this made Leela's head hurt, so she dropped the subject and turned to Amy instead. The Martian girl had agreed to fly her to Mars Vegas first thing in the morning, and taken it surprisingly well when Leela refused to wait til then.
She was currently yawning at the wheel, wearing Hello Kitty pajamas and a sleepy expression. Leela glanced guiltily at her.
"Uh . . . Amy?"
"Yeah?"
Leela cleared her throat. "Thank you. For this. I know we've had our differences in the past, but I really do appreciate your help."
Amy blinked. "Aw, Leela! That's, like, the third nicest thing you've ever said to me! I'm honored."
She guided them inexpertly into a parking space, scraping the ship's hull against a billboard.
Leela winced. She was still annoyed by the crew's refusal to let her fly, but she did owe Amy, so it was probably best to overlook the insult. (And bite her tongue about the Martian girl's sloppy steering.)
They landed with a bump, and Leela felt her annoyance drain away as butterflies started flapping like crazy in her stomach. They were partly panic at what she had to tell Fry, and partly panic of a different kind.
Amy pulled a scrap of paper from her pocket and passed it to her.
"He's in Apartment 434B," she said helpfully. "There should be a button in the elevator."
Leela nodded, staring down at the address without really seeing it. Her mind's eye was choosing to show her a flashback reel instead.
It showed her Fry, drowsy and disoriented on the couch beside her. He had worked an arm around her waist somehow and was half-asleep ; a warm, comforting weight in her lap.
Fry a little later, telling her he loved her when she couldn't stand to hear it. "I love you, I love you, I love you!" he said recklessly, like he didn't know or care how much that scared her, and the only response that felt right was to drown it out and lose herself in him.
Fry again, holding open the door to his and Bender's apartment. "I think you should go," he said, and the emptiness in his voice hurt more than she ever imagined it would.
A jolt of realization struck her. The baby had been there the whole time.
It was a connection she had somehow avoided making up til now, but it must have been. The night she'd spent watching Fry sleep off his concussion, steeling herself to do the right thing and leave him in the morning . . . the baby had been there between them all that time.
Fry had been inches from their unborn child and he hadn't known. She hadn't known.
It was an unsettling thought.
"Are you okay?" Amy asked nervously. "Do you want me to come with you?"
"I . . ."
Leela opened her mouth to say no, to swat Amy away as she usually did, but something stopped her. Instead she nodded.
It was a quick, curt movement, but it left her feeling exposed. Despite the battering she'd endured over the last month, emotional vulnerability wasn't something she could get used to.
Leela stared out at the blob monster hosing down the sidewalk, and tried to force down another surge of regret.
It came up anyway.
It hadn't been so bad with Fry. She had never enjoyed feeling vulnerable, per se, but with him she had somehow hated it less. He could do with a smile or a look what Amy couldn't achieve with all the awkward overtures in the world.
The cyclops fumbled with the zipper on her jacket as they crossed the plaza. Mars was usually warmer than Earth, but most of the planet had been terraformed as basic desert and temperatures tended to plummet at night. The pre-dawn air was cold enough to send goosebumps tingling across her skin.
"You're sure he's here?"
"Yep." Amy stepped neatly over a puddle of vomit, wrinkling her nose. "He tends bar at the casino and this is the address they send his paychecks to. Apartment 434B, Penn-Teller Plaza. We got it from the Robot Devil, and there's no way that guy would lie."
Leela stumbled on her way into the elevator. The sliding doors grazed her elbow as they snapped shut. She yelped in annoyance.
"You made a deal with the Robot Devil?" she remonstrated, rubbing her arm. "Amy! You can't trust that scheming Beezlebot as far as you can throw him – and that's not far, believe me. I've tried it. What were you thinking?"
Amy rolled her eyes.
"Would you schmill out? It's fine. We didn't even make a deal with him. We were going to, but then Bender told him why we wanted to find Fry, and I told him about you and Lars, and I guess he thought that was better than payment. Go figure."
Leela frowned. This didn't tally with her knowledge of the Robot Devil. Not at all.
"What exactly did you say?" she asked suspiciously.
Amy shrugged. "Um . . . I don't remember it exactly, but Bender might have said some stuff about crippling financial obligations and how this is going to cramp Fry's dating style for the next bazillion years . . . and, um . . . I might have said a little teensy something about how you were married to Lars when it happened." She coughed, her cheeks glowing to match her sweatsuit. "And maybe something about how you still spend all this time with him even though you guys are divorced, and, um . . . I might have mentioned how he spent the night at your place after all this went down."
A pregnant silence swelled in response to this. In a corner of the dingy elevator, something Leela was glad she couldn't see dripped loudly onto the floor.
"Nothing happened between me and Lars," she said icily. "And nothing will. He was boarding up my cat flap, okay?"
She watched the numbers on the elevator display flash past.
"I just like knowing where he is. There's nothing weird about it."
"If you say so."
The elevator jerked to a stop before Amy could say anything more.
The apartments had to be small. They crowded in on each other like cells in a honeycomb, clustered around a flickering halogen bulb that was the hallway's only source of light. Something about the exposed wiring trailing from the doorbell told Leela that was out of commission, so she bunched her fist and knocked instead.
A young, mixed-race woman opened the door. The bleached blonde cornrows in her hair were coming unraveled, fanning out around her head like a supernova, but she didn't seem bothered by it. Her bleary eyes suggested she'd just rolled out of bed, and her choice of outfit - white cotton underwear and a carelessly thrown-on man's shirt – hinted she'd much rather get back there.
At least the shirt wasn't Fry's. Not unless he'd grown an extra set of arms since Leela last saw him. No, it had obviously been tailored for someone of a different species, most likely a Neptunian. Not that this had stopped the girl wearing it. She had simply tied the two extra sleeves into a knot with the shirt tails, turning it into a midriff-flaunting outfit Amy would have been proud of. On the soft curve of her hip a half-healed tattoo was just visible. It looked like a mechanical buggalo.
But that wasn't what had caught Leela's attention. It was the glint of gold on the girl's finger she couldn't tear her eye away from.
"Eye," the girl said sleepily, the first word that came to mind tripping automatically off her tongue. She blinked, and woke up a little. "I mean, hi! Hi."
Leela felt her face burn.
"We're looking for Fry," she said coldly.
The girl yawned.
"Wrong address," she said. "There's a place round the corner does pretty good pancakes though."
She went to shut the door, only to find Leela's boot blocking her way.
"I meant Philip J Fry," she snapped. "The person. He lives here."
"I don't know any Frys," the girl protested. "I think you've got the wrong -"
Leela went to argue further, but didn't get the chance. Amy interrupted.
"Hi!" She stuck out a hand and smiled sweetly. "I'm Amy Wong. You know, of the Wong family Wongs? You've probably heard of me because we own, like, half the planet. I think we own this building. You've heard of me, right?"
The girl nodded warily.
"Super! So nice to meet you!" Amy's smile widened. "The thing is, Fry is our friend and we really need to talk to him. Are you sure he doesn't live here? He has red hair. Plays a lot of computer games. And he's really sweet and everything, but he's probably the dumbest person you ever met. Ring any bells?"
A light dawned. "You mean Yancy?"
"Yes!" Leela erupted.
Why Fry would use a fake name was a mystery, but it had to be him. There could only be one person in the universe who matched his description and had his brother's name. Finally. But -
"Oh."
The girl bit her lip, which wasn't the response Leela had been hoping for.
"You're friends of his?" she asked.
Amy nodded. "I'm his friend," she said eagerly. "And him and Leela are friends, if you know what I mean."
She winked.
The girl didn't smile.
"Oh," she said again. She stepped aside. "You'd better come in."
Xandri's apartment was as small inside as it appeared from the outside. The front door opened straight onto a tiny kitchen / living area which was mostly kitchen, with a couch and a TV squashed into one corner. A single door led through to the only bedroom, which Leela sincerely hoped contained some sort of bathroom, and not just Xandri's snoring husband.
She hadn't eaten today, but it probably wouldn't make any difference. This baby had brought with it an incredible ability to be morning-sick even on an empty stomach. Or in the afternoon. Under pretty much any circumstances, really. Privately, Leela was blaming this on Fry. She'd had an iron stomach until she made the mistake of letting his genes anywhere near her. Fry, on the other hand . . . not so much.
Xandri sat them down on the couch while she went to wake her husband.
"I'm sorry I don't have anything to offer you," she said. "We both work at the casino and it's easier to eat on the job. Free canteen, y'know?"
"It's fine. We're not hungry."
"Oh. Well, hey . . . our wedding tape is in the player, if you want to have a look." She picked up the remote and hit the play button. "That's your Fry, right?"
Leela stared at the footage and felt her nausea recede, falling away like she no longer had room for it. Her heartbeat seemed to have rocketed into overdrive.
"Yes," she said distantly. "That's him." My Fry.
He was wearing a white dress shirt with a crumpled collar and a sloppily-fastened bow tie : the uniform of a bartender in the classier kind of casino bar. The left sleeve of his shirt was rolled up and someone was tattooing letters on his arm while he yelped and wriggled like a baby, whining about the pain. If she squinted, Leela could make out the words : Seymour Asses, the name of Fry's old dog. He looked lonely, and unmistakeably drunk. Watching him, Leela found all she wanted to do was dive into the screen and pull him out. And then maybe force-feed him a pint of coffee and let him sleep if off somewhere safe, like her lap.
Someone touched her shoulder and she jerked back from the screen, embarrassed.
"Hi! Uh, sorry I startled you. I didn't mean to. I'm Gomez."
The speaker was a young Neptunian. He was pretty scrawny and wore round glasses which magnified his eyes into huge, worried orbs. His four arms were operating independently of each other at this moment in time : one was flicking off the wedding video, another held out a hand for her to shake, and a third had wrapped itself around his wife's waist. He was using the fourth to point at himself.
"Gomez," he repeated. "That's me." Apparently he'd sensed Leela wasn't listening. "You must be Leela."
His gaze flickered down to the fingers of her left hand, taking in the absence of a ring.
"You are Leela, right? The married lady?"
"I was."
"Oh. Sorry." Gomez pushed his glasses further up his nose. "It's just that Yancy – sorry, Fry - he made it sound like his thing with you was over. If he thought he still had a shot, I mean . . ." He caught Leela's expression. "I guess not. Sorry. It's just . . . I was hoping maybe he went back to you."
He looked miserably at his shoes.
"He's really gone then."
This last sentence was so quiet it had obviously been spoken more to himself than to her, but Leela jumped on it anyway.
"Gone? What do you mean, gone? He can't be gone!"
Gomez shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
"He left three days ago."
Xandri squeezed his hand and took up the story for him.
"It was the morning after our wedding," she explained. "So were kind of distracted. But, yeah . . . he went out sometime after breakfast and just never came back. We looked everywhere for him. Bars, clubs, casinos . . . like I said, everywhere. But he didn't show up for work and he didn't come back here either. No-one's seen him since."
Leela stared at her in horror.
"I'm sorry," the blonde added ineffectually. "It's not like we didn't try. We really liked him - he basically set us up together. But I don't think -"
"Wait, wait." Gomez held up a hand, frowning at Leela. "If it's over between you guys, why are you looking for him? Because if he owes you money -"
Leela swallowed. "No. He doesn't owe me a thing."
"Then what?"
"I can answer that!" Amy chimed in. "He left Leela a present, if you know what I mean. The kind you can't give back." She winked.
"Herpes?" Xandri guessed. "No, wait, that's the gift that keeps on giving. You must mean -" Her gaze landed on Leela, whose hand had drifted unconsciously to her stomach. "Oh, shit."
"Xan!" Gomez turned eggplant purple with embarrassment. "Sorry, Mrs Leela. Leela. Um. Sorry. She didn't mean it like that."
"Are you kidding?" Xandri rolled her eyes. "Yeah, I did! C'mon, Gomie. Ya - Fry was sweet but I knew him three weeks and I don't think I saw him sober once. I was two years below the legal limit and he used to serve me alcohol! He was sleeping with a married woman and then he ran away to Vegas! That doesn't scream 'responsible' to me."
Amy snickered. "He's so not. I could tell you stories."
"I don't care!" Leela snapped. "I don't care what he did, I want him back."
That shut them up, leaving her to think about what she'd just said.
Was that true? Did she really not give a rat's ass about how irresponsible Fry could be? It had always been a major sticking point before.
She struggled to make sense of this.
"I grew up in an orphanarium," she managed at last. "I never knew my parents. No matter what happens, I don't want that for my child. I'd rather have an irresponsible father in my baby's life than none at all."
Only, none at all was exactly what she'd wound up with, wasn't it? Fry wasn't here, and this had been her last hope. The sense of hopelessness welled up again, threatening to drown her.
Xandri grimaced.
"Sorry," she said. "You're right. I only meant that I'd freak out too, in your shoes."
"That is not helping," Gomez muttered.
He smiled and patted Leela's hand awkwardly. At the look on her face he snatched his arm back.
"Um. So . . . um. You're from Earth. Xandri is from Earth."
"I go to Mars U," his wife clarified. "Or I did. That's not a happening thing right now."
"She says Earth is nice this time of year. Is it nice where you are?"
Leela stared at them.
"I'm in New New York," she said slowly. "It's Fall."
"Oh."
Gomez fidgeted with his glasses again. He was trying to make small talk, Leela realized at last. It was clear he had no idea what to say to her.
"Hey, you never mentioned what species you are."
"What?"
"Species," the Neptunian floundered. "It's gotta be nice, being compatible with humans. I mean, you can have your own kids together. Not every interspecies couple can do that. If me and Xan wanted kids we'd probably have to adopt. Right, Xan?"
His wife shrugged. "Probably. We don't, but he's right – it could be majorly awkward if we did. You're lucky. It must be rare to sync up like that."
Leela stared at them. She still had that feeling, like she was drowning on dry land. The blood was rushing in her ears. There was a baby in her belly growing at a rate of knots, cells dividing and sub-dividing in unknown configurations, and her only hope of getting a look at it rested with Fry.
Fry, who was reckless and irresponsible and stubborn as hell. Fry, who had left his mark on her in more ways than she would ever have thought possible ; in long-faded hickeys on her skin and words that stuck in her skull somehow and wouldn't leave. Stupid, ill-timed, honest words.
She looked up, anger coursing through her veins like some potent new drug.
"I'm not a different species," she said tightly. "I'm a sewer mutant."